


Love Sings Sharply

by gotfanfiction



Series: Fairy Tale Time [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Geralt is a failboat, Human/Monster Romance, Is it cannibalism if it's not a human eating another human?, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, but we love him anyways, creature!Jaskier, mermaid!au, so does Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotfanfiction/pseuds/gotfanfiction
Summary: They fight. Fight the ropes, the men, the ocean. They cling to life, desperate and angry.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Fairy Tale Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897204
Comments: 5
Kudos: 112





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is another twit fic that exploded all over the place.

Mermaids were drowned women, mostly, cast aside lovers, or women who were believed to be cursed or witches. They would be thrown either overboard ships, or off cliffs or just dragged, bound, into the ocean, and left to die. 

The common theme: they fight. Fight the ropes, the men, the ocean. They cling to life, desperate and angry. The ocean takes their mortal lives, but gives them fins, gives them breath, claws and fangs. Eyes that can pierce the depths of their new mother and the tools they need for their revenge.

And then there's Jaskier, who was in love and fantastically happy. Who never saw this coming, assuming his love was as happy as he. But people are so wretched, sometimes, and Jaskier is beaten, and bound, and tossed over the side. 

He fights it, clings to his life even as it falters, lungs burning, heart slowing. He's so angry, so  _ betrayed _ , and the last of his breath is spent in a scream.

And his new mother hears him. And she answers. And Jaskier is alive in a different way, now.

His sisters hear him as well, and are happy to help him with his revenge.

They wreck the ship. It's easy, so easy, Jaskier is filled with new strength and rage, and not a single soul makes it out of there alive. His life, as changed as it is, goes on. He meets with his sisters, and there are so many, and they sing ships to their ruin. Jaskier misses the feel of grass, spinning dizzy dances, flowers, but there  _ is _ life here, and he can dance in the currents whenever he wishes.

But still. He and his family, they don't change the way mortals do. Their lives are measured in their scars, the trinkets stolen from destroyed boats, they are ageless, eternal, and, well. After years and years of the same things he longs for something more.

He gets it. Jaskier swims and swims, leaving the  _ cold/warm _ body of his mother, heads into rivers and takes peeks at his place of birth. He sees the humans, sees them as they are, sees their small kindnesses and larger evils.

He takes to luring wretched men in, drowning them like he was, men who beat their wives, their children. Men who are more monstrous than he ever was, or could be.

Jaskier gluts himself on river fish, and sometimes the gifts battered women drop into his new home, weaves the flowers growing on the banks into fine crowns and feels almost peaceful.

He watches over the children who splash around, keeps the water warm and buoyant, keeps himself out of sight. Their mothers speak to him, singing to him, leaving their tributes. He sings with them, sometimes, when the grief of his old life presses into him a little more deeply than it usually does.

His lovely new friends are so very clever, some old enough to recognize a dead bard's tunes, and one night he swims to the bank where a lute is laying, carefully wrapped. He wraps his hands around it and feels... 

...he feels himself, and grief really is a terrible thing, and he screams his out in a long note, startling birds, and, unfortunately, attracting the attention of one lone man.

Geralt of Rivia doesn't know what a mermaid is doing so far inland, but he's going to find out. 

**--**


	2. Part 2

The lute had been tuned to perfection, and Jaskier spent a few days singing and playing and basking in the summer sun. The villagers seemed to enjoy the treat, singing along with him, and an impromptu gathering had been struck up.

He could smell roasting meats and vegetables from where he was hidden, and he was sorely tempted to leave his little safe place. The light filtered through the roots of the great old tree, catching his scales attractively, if he did say so himself.

But he ran his tongue over his sharp,  _ sharp, _ teeth and chose to stay out of sight, at least for now. Oh, he knew that there'd been a glimpse or two of him, and of course his village women were very clever, twisty girls; they could hazard a guess as to what he was.

Caution held him back. His life wasn't worth a bit of fun. He missed his sisters, his mother, he missed  _ people _ , but he had died once before, and had no desire to repeat the experience.

He settled for strumming idly, humming something sweet, his voice carrying in a way it never had as a human.

He thought, suddenly, of composing a new song, just for his village, and decided that the next time one of the older women came to his river, he would ask for paper, and ink, and a quill.

Jaskier stopped playing when he heard someone walking up to where his friends were drinking, and all sound ceased. He could smell something, something bitter, something  _ new _ .

The stranger said nothing, whispers following his near silent footsteps as he walked a length of riverbank.

"It's a witcher," a child's voice was shushed as soon as she spoke.

A witcher? Jaskier risked a peek from between thick roots, and yes, that was absolutely a witcher. White hair, scary swords, and those eyes.

Just as inhuman as his. They seemed to almost glow from within, bright and impossibly alluring. Jaskier remembered, then, his regrettable tendency to fall heads over heels for beautiful people, and a beat later his tendency to take bites out of less than savoury humans.

Literally. Some of the men he drowned tasted like they hadn't bathed in their entire lives.

There may have been some panicked flailing on his part. Which lead to splashing, which lead to noise.

The witcher's eyes flicked to his spot, and Jaskier could see from here the way the man's head tilted back, scenting him. He knew he shouldn't, but he leaned out just a bit more, he only wanted to see, and those eyes met his, even from so far away.

Jaskier stopped breathing. He felt frozen, anticipation shivering it's way down his spine. Oh, this would be so very interesting, whatever happened.


	3. Part 3

Geralt knew there was a mermaid in this river. Just by the scent, and the tooth marks on the bones he'd pulled out of the water this morning. It helped, though, that he had actually seen her. Part of her face, mostly hidden in shadow, the scales reflecting and catching the eye.

Her eyes had been large and blue, the color filling the whole eye, a dead giveaway of a drowned soul. They had widened in shock when they met, but there had been no fear.

He tossed another stick into his fire. The mermaid was clearly killing people, but he knew they tended to hunt cruel men, and the feast on the riverbanks implied safety. It had been mostly women, a few men sprinkled in, and they had seemed happy, at least until Geralt walked up. 

They didn't seem openly hostile towards him, but they certainly weren't  _ friendly _ . A few of the more fragile looking ladies had glared at him in a fierce way, music and laughter stumbling to a stop. None of the gathered people had any instruments, but there had been a lute being played. He was sure of it.

Geralt hadn't been contracted to kill this mermaid, the villagers seemed content with their local beastie, and he was considering simply leaving the way he had planned. He would finish gathering his herbs, first, but the mermaid wasn't killing people who didn't have it coming.

He did wish he'd gotten a better look at her. It wasn't often he came across one, these creatures made for fury and vengeance, a thing that used to be human but now was not.

The river was a calm one, so when he heard a splash he knew the mermaid had arrived.

Geralt didn't need to squint to see in the low light of dusk, had no trouble seeing the movement under the slow moving water. He left his swords alone, but within reach.

He really did not want to kill her.

**--**

Jaskier swam up to where the witcher was clearly waiting for him, but didn't quite dare to pop up out of the water. Didn't want to lose his head, for all the man seemed calm. He briefly thought to use his Song to influence him, and discarded the idea immediately. 

He wasn't sure it would even work on a witcher, after all, and Singing took a great deal of concentration. Jaskier dug a pebble out of the silt, and tossed it to where the man was sitting.

It plopped back, not a moment later, bouncing off his forehead. Jaskier breached, actually a little angry, and yelled, "You hit me in the face!"

"You're a male?"

**--**

He knew, deep down, that thrashing about in a panic was the worst thing he could be doing right now. After all, there was a witcher nearby, a witcher he'd shown his face to, a witcher with sharp swords and sharper teeth, nasty potions, all tools meant for the killing of those like him.

But it wasn't like he hadn't already done the absolute stupidest thing he could have. And Jaskier was still here, after all, so if he got his head chopped off it would probably be his fault.

He managed to calm himself and open his ears a bit. He didn't hear a body stalking through the waters, didn't taste one either.

He settled into the silt, trying to think of a way to get out of this nonsense he'd gotten himself into. He didn't  _ want _ to kill the witcher. Not only because it would drag more trouble onto his fool head. Jaskier was the idiot who wished for something more, something different, something new. He breathed in the wisping scent of his home, still with him even here.

Another rock plopped into the water. It twisted as it fell, bubbles drifting up to the surface. It rolled in the current, touching his hand, and it felt like a question.

At least it didn't hit him in the face this time.

**--**

Geralt felt a bit stupid, standing there, tossing rocks into a river, hoping to get another look at the mermaid. Not that he let that stop him. The waters had settled some minutes ago, but Geralt knew the creature hadn't left.

This river was deep and clear, and the sun hadn't quite made it all the way down yet. He could see the mermaid, squinting up at him from where he'd wedged himself into the river mud.

Geralt wasn't really expecting him to carefully peek his head out, tried not to be amused at how slowly the mermaid emerged.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Geralt sat down, his hands out. He winced. He'd put himself down right on top of his small pile of stones. Typical.

The mermaid was smirking at him, now. Damn it.

"What's your name? I'm Geralt." He shifted around, but it didn't help much.

"Geralt?" The mermaid looked almost like he was savoring the word. "Well. Call me Jaskier."

"Why?"

"Because it's my name."


	4. Part 4

The witcher, Geralt, kept returning to the river, to him, and Jaskier was thrilled. They met often, and even if Geralt wasn't prone to conversation the way Jaskier was, he was content to let the mermaid chatter away.

Jaskier had dragged himself onto the bank to dig through Geralt's bags. The potions clinked together as he jostled them around, and while he considered smashing some up just to hear the sound it would make, he doubted his new friend would appreciate it.

He moved to the next, which was full of old shirts and trousers. They were all drab, and boring, and a stiff breeze away from absolute collapse, and Jaskier found himself missing his old outfits, bright and gaudy as they were.

He had his lovely trinkets, though, and now a lute, so tried to put the feeling from his mind. And he especially did not want to deal with the snit his witcher would work himself into if he dared to comment on his state of dress.

Again.

Geralt was keeping an eye on him as he sharpened his swords, but seemed content to listen to Jaskier rambling as he pawed his things. Something near forgotten and hot pulsed in Jaskier's belly whenever Geralt's face twitched into his almost a smile.

Jaskier had more trouble avoiding those feelings. His nature was a greedy one, after all, and he found himself wanting to crowd into his witcher, teeth at his throat, wanting to rip into those awful clothes to bite at the man inside.

He could smell the same sort of desire on Geralt, as well, though not often, and a Song bubbled up in his chest, but Jaskier wanted more than an orgasm before a meal, this time. Geralt twitched, a bit, nose wrinkling up, and Jaskier wriggled his way back into the water, to be safe from tricky witcher senses. He drifted closer to Geralt, claws sheathed, teeth safely hidden behind plush lips.

He could wait, he decided, for a little while longer. 

**--**

Geralt was bathing in the river when Jaskier reached the end of his limited patience, and pounced. To his credit the witcher took it in stride, immediately wrapping his arms around Jaskier, tongue pushing hot and wet in between needle sharp teeth. Jaskier hummed approval, curled his tail around those powerful legs, pulled Geralt down into the water until they were totally submerged. 

He put his teeth at the witcher's throat, drew blood and drank it in, moved back to that plush mouth to breath for him. They flailed their way to the bank, Geralt's chest heaving and streaked with pink, and how could he have forgotten about the witcher's own fangs, Jaskier moaning as he was bitten in turn, his own blood sensibly spat out back into the water. 

They clawed at each other, writhing around in the mud and silt, teeth and desire bared, the breeze tripping over fevered skin. Jaskier wanted to eat the noises they were making, keep them inside himself forever, and he sobbed when he pushed his cock against Geralt's. 

The Witcher lunged for his pack, for a bottle of oil, and Jaskier remembered, all of a sudden, how human men fucked each other, remembered the burn and the stretch, set about helping get his lover ready for him.

And it was exquisite, watching Geralt squirm on their fingers but not as much as feeling him clench down in shock when Jaskier was inside, and they both stopped for a moment, just to feel it.

But the moment ended, bled into another, more frantic one, Jaskier rutting almost desperately, Geralt grabbing hold of his back and ripping into the skin, and the scales.

Jaskier wrapped a hand around Geralt's cock, let a bit of Song into his voice, reveled in the sounds of the other's release, even as he found his own.

He slid out, prick already sheathing, and stared at the mess he'd made of the witcher.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm breaking it up into chapters, to make updating easier on myself lol


End file.
